


Vice-Like Grip

by lmc_TicDonPete



Series: Peter Parker Whumpy One-Shots [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Dead Peter Parker, Depressed Tony Stark, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Just you wait - Freeform, Parent Tony Stark, Pepper Potts Is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Dies, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Sad, Teen Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, he’s gonna be okay tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-09-29 02:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17194760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmc_TicDonPete/pseuds/lmc_TicDonPete
Summary: He can still feel him, holding as tight as he could, with all his might. As his weak arms started to fall away from his body and Tony was dragged to the floor with the small body in his arms. He looked into those eyes and found nothing but immense love and graciousness. It was the last time he’d ever see those eyes.Why hadn’t he held on tighter?





	Vice-Like Grip

**Author's Note:**

> One thing that really bothered me in IW was that even though Peter was literally squeezing the shut out of Tony, the dude really wasn’t holding Peter back that tightly. He just kinda had his hands there. So, I’ve decided to put Tony through emotional turmoil over that fact that he hadn’t held on tighter.
> 
> Thank you and enjoy...

I can still feel him in my arms, some nights. When it’s cold as ice outside, but I turn my ceiling fan on anyways. Almost like a punishment of some sort. He hadn’t felt the comfort or warmth of his bed when he left, so neither should I.

Well, I won’t be leaving anytime soon, I suppose. I’ll be damned here to live our the rest of my days, half-drunken off my ass doing nothing but moping.

Its my own fault anyways. I let myself stay in bed all day, sleeping or just laying here, thinking. Thinking about him. How he felt in my arms, so frail and broken. His thin, but muscular arms snakes their way around my neck and latched on like a leech looking for blood. 

All I did was put my hands on his back.

I didn’t crush him with a vice like grip and beg for him to stay. I didn’t bawl like a baby or reassure him that he wasn’t going to go. I should have told him how much I loved him, how much I cared for him. Even if his last moments were painfilled and so rich with darkness and fear. I should have told him how much I wanted him to stay.

Peter. Sweet Peter who didn’t want any harm to come to our world. And he was gone. Maybe it was my fault. I wasn’t smart enough to think of all the solutions, even with Strange saying it was the not possible way, I still think I could have done something.

He was so close to ripping the damn thing off Thanos’ hand. My kid was an inch close to saving the entire universe. I woudl have been so proud. I already was.

Then Quill has to come suck it up. I suppose if it had been me in his situation, I’d be pretty pissed, but it was because of him that Thanos got free. It was his fault half the universe turned into nothing but dust. 

It was his fault my Peter was gone.

But god damn of it was Peter or Pepper in this so called, “Gamora”’s shoes, I’d do the same thing. Maybe I would have waited until after Thanos’ ugly ass was dead to beat the living shit out of him, but I would have done so nonetheless.

Passing around blame won’t do me much good though. It was no ones fault but a Thanos’, that fucking alien. I’d it weren’t for him I’d still have Peter, and I’d tell the kid how much I love him.

Goddamn I love him so much. 

Why didn’t I tell him? All that time I wasted listening to him beg me to save him, pleading to no one how much he wanted to stay. He didn’t want to go. He had told me he wasn’t okay and I ignored him, just let him fall into my arms and grip my shoulders, stuff his face in my neck. And what did I do?

Nothing. I didn’t use any of this time to gush my feelings out to this kid, who was seconds away from dying and could only udder the tiniest “I’m sorry”, as his last words. Peter had nothing to say sorry about, god damnit! Why’d he say sorry?!

Why’s he have to leave?! Why couldn’t it have been me instead?! He had more to live more than I ever did. He was just some genius kid who would I would undoubtably hire as head of Stark Industries when he’s older, and love out his life as the best superhero ever. And what was I? Some middle aged man with an alcohol problem, that just happened to build a suit and fly around the country like Mary-fucking- Poppins with her umbrella. 

Now what? I sit here feeling sorry for myself while the others are probably fighting tooth and nail to get everyone back? What use am I to them here? All I’m good for is screwing ahiybup and sulking afterwards. I don’t even try to fix my mistakes.

If I even cared about Peter, maybe I’d be out there helping to get him back.

But no. I’ve been in my bed for five days straight, no food, no water, just my sweaty, greasy body smelling up the sheets.

Pepper came by yesterday to bring me a sandwich, but I denied her constant request for me to eat. If Peter couldn’t eat (of course he couldn’t he’s fucking dead), than neither could I. It just wasn’t fair. To be honest, I don’t know how anyone can even continue living knowing their loved ones are gone. Sure, I grieved for my mother, Jarvis. I love them, they were family. I didn’t sleep or eat for days after their death but I’m still alive and kicking now.

I just find it stupid how no one even considers asking the government what the hell is going on. Does. Does no one care for their fallen family and friends?

Then again, if I actually cared for Peter, I’d meet up with the others and go after that purple color see jerk.

...

I feel him everywhere. His hands, pushing so far into my back, fillings the muscle in an achy way that barely hurt, even with his super strength aiding his clutch. 

The was his arms were able to wrap around my neck so quick, even as he was stumbling towards the ground in a heap of pain. The way I could feel his body try to heal himself as he turned to dust. His healing factor was trying to help him, but only prolonged his painful death.

It was agnolizing to hear.

The wya I could hear his flesh trying to piece itself back together, only to be ripped apart once more. I could only wish the kid didn’t feel much, but by the sounds of his whimpers and pleas, I’d say he was in some sort of pain.

I should have pet his hair down, soothed him with coos and shushes. I could have whipped the sweat off his porcelain face and rubbed his smooth skin so he’d feel me one last time. It might sound stupid, but I think I could have held on tighter, so he didn’t fall on the hard and cold ground when he turned to dust. Not to brag, but I’d say my hands were a lot warmer than rocks and space sand.

Peter would have gone out in comfort rather than frustration or coldness. He didn’t have to say sorry to me, for whatever the hell he did. That just made the situation worse. He died thinking he was a disappointment, that I hated him. Maybe he thought I saw him as a disappointment, a failure. 

Peter had the gauntlet in his delicate little hands. The same hands that were softer than anything I’veebwr felt before. They were void of any imperfections- calluses, blisters, rough patches. They weren’t clammy or sweaty, except for when he was nervous about something. 

I could hold those hands forever, until I gripped so tight I broke them.

I don’t know why I even let them slip away. If I had held them for a little longer, Peter would have been able to put himself back together faster. He could have been stronger. 

But no, no. Peter was to strong for his own good. Peter was the strongest kid I ever met- the strongest person. There was no way he could have possibly done anything. And maybe I couldn’t have done anything either.

My therapist says the best place to start was to rationalize. Peter was going to die, it was inevitable, just like every other person’s death. There was absolutely no way either one of us could stop it. It was impossible for me to just stop fate.

But it still hurts. It hurts like a bitch. 

God, Peter held on so tight. I can still feel the ache in my ribs, if I focuse hard enough. And if I close my eyes, I can still remember how his grasp had dented my suit and could vaguely hear howhis fingers ripped the tips of his own suit and the flesh skin poked through. He had been trying so damn hard to keep me close, and I did nothing. 

Nothing. Just like how now, instead of getting my good-for-nothing ass out of bed, I’m doing nothing but waiting for Pepper or Bruce to come in and tell me to get up.

Get up. Get up, Peter. I can hear my mind telling him in my sleep. When I dream about him falling to the ground and dragging me along with him. 

Just get up, it isn’t that hard.

Get up.

Come on, this isn’t funny.

Peter, get your ass off the ground.

You’re making me look bad in front of these freaks, Peter.

Get up, damnit.

Peter.

Peter?

Get up! Get the fuck up! God damnit, I can’t- can’t think. Fuck, fuck, fuck. G-Get up! You can’t just stay down! I hate you! I hate you, god, fuck! Help him you idiot! Help him. Help me! Help! I can’t help him- you gotta help him! Help, please someone. Please! You, you! Help!

Fuck, shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up. Just... just be quiet. 

Peter is gone. He’s gone. I can tell myself that. But sometimes I panic. Like he’s still on the ground wasting away but everyone else is fine. They aren’t gone yet, maybe, in this little world I’ve made up in my head. They’re still alive and watching, waiting. No one can help him, he’s alone. 

But I’m holding him, tight, in this world. I’m not just placing my hands wherever and letting them hang. I’m hugging back, tightly, and he can feel the desperation in the grip. Peter can feel just how much I want him to stay, how much I love him.

In this world I’ve made up, Peter still does. He’s still gone off to heaven like the perfect, little angel he is. But this time, he knows I was there for him, that I cared that he was gone. I wasn’t just there. I was with him until the very end. In my world. 

I barely registered my hand moving by itself to the nightstand, reaching for the half-empty bottle of melatonin. Mygrip shook, the pills making light tapping noises on the side of the plastic. I took two and lied back down, taking deep breaths to calm my erratic intake of air. 

I didn’t know I was having an anxiety attack until after the fact, and by the way my body felt drenched in sweat and how tears drowned my cheeks, I’d say it was pretty bad. 

I had them a lot resentful. Usually when I think about him. When I get lost in my own little space and I beg him to move.  I talk to myself. Myself, to him. He never answers, mostly because it’s all in my head and I’m nothing more than a waste of air at this point. But I still yell at him in my head, like what happened only moments earlier. I’d like to think he hears me, somehow. That he knows I wanted him to try, but that it was okay if he failed.

Yeah, he may have died in my arms, but I wouldn’t say he died in my grip. It wasn’t a grip at all. It was like one of those awkward small side hugs you give a person you haven’t seen in forever, and don’t like. I loved Peter, and wanted to see him.

I gave him nothing. No reassurance, no love, no affection. Just a lose grasp that held no purpose, no meaning. 

What he gave me-... what he gave me was so much better. It was all his heart and soul being pushed out, he gave it to me and I threw it to the dirt. 

I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else. Anything to get my mind off of him and what happened. There was safety in everything other than that

Steve is downstairs, along with all the others who survived, who if I remember correctly was all the Avengers. I even think Clint came back. Bruce has been the only one to talk to me since I was taken back to Earth. Nebula, who has probably the most badass name ever, found a way back home, but she was gone before I could thank her.

I’d like to think Bruce is the only one who cares, but I know that isn’t true. Sure, Steve and I might have some issues, we’ve gotten into some major arguments, but this was important. We wanted to get the universe back, an din order to do that, he had to settle our disputes. The only problem with that, is my simple refusal to leave Pepper and I’s room. It’s comfortable here. 

Silk sheets, cotton pillows and a nice warm comforter. Why would I leave the comfort of my bed to work with people I’ve grown to hate? Exactly, I wouldn’t. I’m Tony- Fucking- Stark and I can do whatever the hell I want! 

So fuck ‘em all to hel-

There was a sound at the door. Knocking, onvisouly, but not as soft as Pepper or Bruce’s. They were manlier, full of robust confidence. So, it was either Natasha or Steve. My bet was Steve, but I could see either of them barging in here.

I didn’t amswer the knock, so I guess that meant to the intruder to just waltz right in. I didn’t care much, not like I was naked or anything. 

I stared at the person walking in, Steve stared right on back. He looked different. A beard, a real nice one, long and full. His eyes looked tired, and I sure as hell know he hasn’t been sleeping. He deserves it (at this point I’m just trying to fool myself into hating everyone, Steve doesn’t deserve the torture of insomnia). His eyes are sad as well, a soft, empty look to them, but I still see some of that perseverance and will power in them. I can tell by the way he gazed into mine that he can’t find anything that was there before, except for the fatigue they held. Steve’s mouth formed a frown when he looked upon my disheveled form, and I wished he’d stop judging me. 

I think he handled losing his best friend better than I did.

The super soldier cleared his throat but kept his eyes firm on me. I thought I might crack under his steel gaze, I normally wouldn’t but something about how insistent he was on saving the universe made me want to cry. He was so much better than me, as a person. Steve was caring and considerate. 

I wouldn’t even hug my own son.

Oh gosh, no. I’ve attached myself to Peter as his mentor, not some father figure! I hate myself. I hate myself for bringing such an innocent being into such a battle. I hate myself for not holding on tighter. I hate myself for not-not hugging my... son closer. There’s no use in holding it back.

”Hello, Tony,” Steve’s voice was confident, and I wasn’t surprised to say the least. He was always confident, and so was I, except for now that is. I guess he could sense that. “I-... how are you?”

God bless him.

”How do you think I am? Are you looking at me?” I can’t help but be just a bit hostile towards him. He can’t just come in here acting like he hasn’t been crying for days. Like he hasn’t been drowning himself in alcohol to make tha pain of losing someone you love go away. Like he hasn’t slept in days but tries to convince himself that he’s okay. Steve can’t be okay after this. If I’m not, than neither I’d he. “Of course I’m not okay, you jerk.”

”You know this isn’t just hard on you! Some of us actually lost someone important to us!” If only he knew. Maybe he’d be more thoughtful of his words. Then again, it isn’t his fault, he’s oblivious. “I don’t know what went on on that plant, but you need to pull yourself together!” I’ll pull myself together when I’m dead, dipshit. I decided to keep some thought to myself. He’s just trying to save the world after all.

”Don’t tell me what to do, Grandpa. You aren’t that boss of me and will never be,”I should just shut up now, let him rant to me about how bad of a person I am. I should give up and let Steve realize what a loser I am. I wasn’t then, but I guess things change. So what, I lose one kid and suddenly I’m worthless?

”I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation, Tony. This is the universe we’re talking about! Not just New York!” He said, and extravagant look upon his face. 

“I know.” I looked away from him, breaking the staring competition we just had. And though it broke my confidence, I did it anyways.

”Then why are you up here sleeping your life away? We need you down there, helping us!” Steve was getting desperate now, I could tell. He was grasping at straws wanting me to just get up and help. But something kept me confined to my bed, like my ass was glued to the mattress. I didn’t want to get up.

”You don’t need me,” I signed, rubbing my eye sockets warily, smacking my dry lips together slightly before blowing a breath of fresh air out my cracking throat. “I’ll ruin it, I won’t be much help,” I wasn’t in control of my mouth, but I let it continue to ramble without trying to stop it. “I couldn’t help him, I can’t help you.”

Steve was obviously confused, bless him. His features where innocent, absently wondering who you was talking about. I could tell he was wracking his brain for answers, but came up short.

”Who’s him?”

”Peter Parker,” I smiled at his name, and I could see Steve’s eyebrows furrow at my grin. It disappeared in a flash. 

“And that would be...”

”Spider-Man, greatest hero this world’s ever known,” I chuckled to myself, Steve must think I’m crazy by now. I turned to him again, but he had the same stone expression on, as if he was contemplating something.

”He’s gone, I’m guessing.” His voice sounded sad, but I knew he wasn’t. Steve didn’t know Peter like I knew him. In fact, he probably hates Spider-Man for battling against him in Germany. Steve was probably happy the kid’s dead.

”Gone. Dead. Whatever you want to call it, that’s what he is,” I frowned, looking down at the silk sheets I laid beneath. “Died on Titan, the planet. Turned to dust and he was just... poof.”

”That’s what’s got you so down? Spider-Man?” I’ve never wanted to punch someone so hard before. Steve was talking like he knew Peter, he did not know Peter! I knew Peter! Peter was my kid and didn’t have to associate with a soldier to be a good person. Peter was the sweetest boy on Earth and Steve would die before ever laying a finger on the kid. 

“Peter was my kid, you dipshit! And now he’s dead! So yeah, I am ‘down’ about losing Spider-Man, because he was my son! Mine!” I could feel the tears falling freely down my cheeks and wetting the bedding, but I paid no mind to it. Steve looked shocked, but it slowly faded to sympathy as he watched more and more salty tears flow gorl my eyes. Maybe he get my pain, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same as losing your best friend. It was much worse. “And if you even give a rat’s ass about how I feel after losing him, you’d leave me the fuck alone to die in here!”

”Tony, you have to come downstairs. We can’t get him back! With your help I’m sure we can devise a plan of some sort!” No matter how bad I wanted to decline his offer, I knew Steve was right. Wasting away in this room wasn’t going to get Peter back. It might feel better than actually doing work, but it was useless. I wanted to say no, hold on to whatever small amount of dignity I had left, but decided against it. I had already lost everything.

”Okay. Okay. Just... give me twenty minutes and I’ll be down.”

I didn’t need to look to see Steve’s smile. 

“Thank you, Tony. I promise, we’ll get your kid back.”

”And we’ll get your friend back too.”

At the mention of Bucky, Steve stood a bit straighter, but was ultimately surprised I would agree to actually wanting him back. The soldier nodded and left the room without another word.

I didn’t want to go see everyone, or leave my bed. But then again, Peter didn’t want to die, but he did anyways.

I can still hear his voice just as well as I felt his hands clinging to me.

Please, Mister Stark, I don’t want to go.

Save me.

Save me, please.

I don’t want to go.

I don’t want to go.

...

So why the hell did I let you?

 


End file.
